What if I don’t like anyone on the trip? What if they don’t like me? What if this whole thing is a complete disaster?

‘Shut up, Sarah,’ I said aloud. I was annoyed with myself. I’d had a good dinner, seen a nice sunset, and suddenly random thoughts of doom and gloom were sending me into a spiral. I had to change tack.

‘You need to get organised,’ I told myself. I knew if I put things in order, I’d exorcise the demon nerves. It was my tried and tested method of crisis management, particularly if the crisis was all in my head.

Except that when I emptied my handbag out onto my bed, I made a sickening discovery. My wallet was gone. I frantically ran my hand around the inside of the bag, but it was definitely empty. I sifted through all the things on the bed – hat, notebook, pen, camera, lip balm. No wallet. It was gone.

I took myself back through the previous couple of hours. I had it at the taverna, because I paid for dinner. Maybe I left it there? No, because I also paid for the bus ticket and that was after dinner. Did I remember putting my wallet back in my bag? Yes. Did I have it when I took my camera out of my bag in Oia? I think I remember seeing it then.

That meant I’d lost it on the bus ride back. But I hadn’t taken it out of my bag. I hadn’t even opened my bag. Oh my god! Someone stole my wallet from my handbag. While it was on my back! The panic kicked in, and I burst into tears. ‘Fuck!’

Realising I was wringing my hands, I stopped and shook them out. ‘Okay, think, Sarah. What was in the wallet? What do you need to do?’ I willed myself to breathe, slowly, consciously, in and out. I stood in the middle of my room and closed my eyes. The safe! Of course, I had put valuables in the safe before I went out. I rushed to open it.

I took out a credit card, a wad of cash and – thank god – my phone and passport. So, I’d lost my other credit card, about twenty euros and my driver’s licence. ‘Shit.’ I was going to need my driver’s licence to rent scooters on the islands. Well, maybe they would let me rent one with my passport. It was Greece after all, and they weren’t exactly sticklers for that sort of thing. At least the thief hadn’t got my passport.

I tried to remember who was around me on the bus, but I hadn’t registered any faces. We’d been packed in there so tightly, and I’d watched out the front window most of the trip. I sighed and sat on the bed. I needed to call my bank in Australia and cancel the credit card.